


Hold Me Like a Gun to Your Head

by multipurposetoolguy



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (again not the focus but it's there), (even though the sexy bit is his idea), (just a smidge), Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben is 19 and Hux is 30, Ben is a Feisty Youth, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Hux is Not Nice, Knifeplay, M/M, Mob Boss Hux, Murder Kink, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Violence, Virgin Ben Solo, and therefore can't fully consent, kinda feeling my way through these tags hoo boy, only in the sense that Ben's been kidnapped, so just a heads up I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 22:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12492160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multipurposetoolguy/pseuds/multipurposetoolguy
Summary: Hux lowers the gun completely, at a loss. It seems like far too much self-loathing and misery to be contained in a lanky nineteen year old rich kid, and frankly it’s ruining his mood. He came down here to tie up a loose end and indulge in a little bit of bloodlust, not play therapist.---Mob Boss Hux has kidnapped Han Solo's son in order to teach him a lesson, and the encounter does not go at all the way Hux expects it to.





	Hold Me Like a Gun to Your Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Droneshard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Droneshard/gifts).



> This exists solely because it's Maddy's birthday and I know all her kinks, and she deserves porn on her birthday, damn it! I hope you like it beebs, it was lots of fun imagining your reaction as I wrote it, now go forth and bust the biggest nut <3 
> 
> that last part goes for everyone! ;)

The elevator glides smoothly downward, floor by floor, and Hux tugs his gloves the rest of the way on. They’re a soft black leather with just enough weight to them, and he revels in the creaks they make when he clenches his fists. His dress shirt is stark white and clean pressed, and the air down here smells faintly of rust and blood.

On days like these, he _really_ loves his job.

It isn’t _strictly_ his job, this part, but he took the opportunity to get his hands dirty whenever possible. So long as it was the splatter-bang ultra-violence kind of dirty and not the lobotomizing paperwork nitty-gritty kind.

The lift gently comes to a stop, the doors slide open with a soft _ding!_ that is almost comically at odds with the grime of the room and the oily light flickering overhead. Flexing the gloves one more time and smiling sharp and dreadful to himself, he takes a deep breath and strides out to where his guest is waiting.

“Mister Solo! I’m _so_ very pleased that you could join us this afternoon.” He spreads his arms out wide in a faux-welcoming gesture and grins wider when the man- boy, really, what a shame- sitting at the center of the room jerks in fear.

He’s pulling frantically against the tape binding his arms behind his back, at the shoulders and the wrists, and Hux can hear him breathing loudly through his nose as he approaches. He can almost _smell_ the fear rolling off the kid in waves, fear of Hux and what he might do next. Hux wishes he could capture the scent and make it into a candle, and light one in every room of his house.

“Now now, if you knock yourself over I won’t be picking you back up again.” He raises a brow when that earns him an angry flash of eyes through dark hair matted darker with blood.

He stops inches from the kid’s knees, bending down to take his trembling chin in one hand. Wrenching his face up he examines him under the light, running a gloved thumb slowly through the blood that had run from his likely broken nose down across the tape stretched wide across his face, smearing it in ugly whorls. When the kid jerks out of his grasp (before Hux has finished admiring the mess Phasma had made of him, how horribly rude) Hux tuts and reaches out to tweak his sizable nose, hard. He feels cartilage grind under his fingers and smirks wickedly at the muffled yelp of pain.

“I think you’d do well to consider your position at the moment, Mister Solo. Or is it Organa?” The kid just blinks at him, breathing a little harder now, all he can do at the moment, and Hux shakes his head. “It hardly matters now, does it, and anyway it brings me to the pressing matter of why I’ve requested your company today, however briefly.”

The kid looks almost more confused than scared now, and Hux drinks it in for a moment before cutting to the chase. Just because the fun part is almost over doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the satisfying rip of the tape off the Kid’s red-raw face, though, and the pitiful whine that echos after it. Take the time to enjoy the little things, his nan had always told him.

“What, why am I here? Who are you?” The kid rasps, Ben, he believes his name is, and Hux lets him, if only because he hasn’t got time for too many more words yet and he might as well speak while he can. He starts pacing around Ben’s rickety chair in slow, wandering circles, for no particular reason other than to watch as he jerks and twists in his bindings to follow him.

“Your father is an… associate of mine, and he has been cutting corners of late, keeping portions of my product for himself and selling them on the side.” He clicks his tongue and adopts a theatrical pout. “Very naughty.”

The kid doesn’t look surprised at his father’s less-than-savory work dealings (not to mention the now obvious fact that he’s directly responsible for landing him beat bloody and taped to a chair), not in the least. In fact, if anything he looks… resigned? Well _that’s_ depressing. Han Solo must be some piece of work back at the homestead, stealing from him and lying to his face about it notwithstanding. It’s nearly enough to make Hux feel sorry for the kid, but not by much. Business is business, after all. No room for silly sentiments, however fleeting.  

When all Ben does is clench his jaw and stare at the cracks in the floor, Hux continues. “He took something of mine, lots of somethings, really, your father has dreadfully sticky fingers. So,” He gestures to Ben, having come to a smooth stop directly in front of him. “I’ve taken something of his.”

Ben meets his eyes in a flash of anger hot enough to burn a weaker man, and Hux feels its searing heat all the same. Evidently this kid is made of stronger stuff than countless grown men Hux has had the pleasure of wiping off the face of Manhattan, and it’s making this that much more thrilling. He almost wishes they’d met under different circumstances, seen that fire in a different light. Almost.

The fear in his face has nearly trickled away completely now, and that just won’t do. That won’t do at _all._

Hux leans in and whispers conspiratorially. “That said, I do believe that you can help me teach him a very valuable lesson.”

Now at least Ben looks wary, and Hux appreciates it. “What lesson is that, exactly?” He looks like he doesn’t want to know the answer. Smart boy.

Hux abruptly stiffens his posture and looks him dead in the eyes.

“To never, _ever_ cross me.”

The sound of the thick leather holster unclipping at the small of his back is loud in Hux’s ears, it always is, and before Ben can even think about wetting himself Hux has his M1912 inches from the kid’s forehead.

“Nothing personal, Benjamin.” He pulls the hammer back with an obscenely satisfying clunk and takes a breath, gives the kid a moment of reflection, or prayer, or whatever spiritual ends he needs tying before Hux can have his fun and get back upstairs to his eggs Florentine.

“Wait!” Right on cue. Hux eyes him down the barrel, shoulders hunched in as far as his bindings will allow and his eyes screwed shut. “Wait, stop, you don’t have to kill me.”

Hux sighs. He had rather hoped that this interesting young man would have thought of something similarly more interesting to say with his last words. Everyone says the same thing, once they see the gun. Pity.

“I am well aware that I don’t have to kill you, I don’t _have_ to do anything. I _want_ to kill you, is that better?”

Ben’s eyes startle open at that, and he squirms in his seat. “...No, it’s- that still sucks for me, but you should know that killing me won’t change how my dad does things. He’s still gonna fuck you over, whether I’m dead or not.” Again he has that strange film of resignation settled over him, like this isn’t the first time he’s entertained this idea. Now _this_ is interesting.

It catches Hux off guard as it did earlier, so much so that it’s got him lowering his gun to point lazily at Ben’s chest. “You’re the darling poster boy for Senator Organa’s campaign, the face of hope and innocence for an entire political party. Surely your absence will have an affect.” If he’s trying to spin some sort of woe-is-me angle to save his skin, he’s got quite the silver spoon in the way.

Ben snorts and smiles, lifeless. “Yeah, I have to look at nine year old me with gaps in my teeth every time I take the fucking subway, I’m aware. The poster’s all grown up, now it’s just some kid that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Hux’s brows shoot up to his hairline. He’s struck speechless. Ben’s words are heavy with a resentment that, if he’s lying, would make him one hell of an actor. He continues, and Hux lets him.

“Once I started breaking things and my ‘tantrums’ were suddenly ‘symptoms of mental illness’, mom dug up the rest of the more flattering home movies for her PR team and shipped me off, dumped in a hospital to make potholders and therapy bracelets until I died, probably. Or until she won the election, whichever came first.” He pulls his mouth into a frown and then spits blood onto the floor to his left. “Hope and innocence are words that haven’t applied to me in a very long time.”

Hux lowers the gun completely, at a loss. It seems like far too much self-loathing and misery to be contained in a lanky nineteen year old rich kid, and frankly it’s ruining his mood. He came down here to tie up a loose end and indulge in a little bit of bloodlust, not play therapist.

“Mummy sent you away to a treatment center to attend to your illness, how _dreadful_ your life must be.” Ben snarls something suspiciously close to _fuck you,_ but Hux graciously decides to ignore it in favor of finding out what the _hell_ this kid’s deal is. “So you were locked away, yet here you sit. My people picked you up behind a frankly appalling record shop, not from a plush hospital room, you’ll remember. Why is that?”

Ben spits again and if he does it one more time Hux might just throw curiosity to the wind and shoot him him the throat.

“Call it irreconcilable differences between me and the floor staff. And a broken window, but y’know. Semantics.” Awful flippant for a guy taped to a chair. “My parents were pissed, you can imagine. Apparently good brainwashing ain’t cheap.” He laughs again, completely hollow. “I was pretty much told that if I tried any of my shit they would be ‘forced to cut ties’. You could shoot me and dump me in a gutter somewhere and they wouldn’t even know I was dead. Not until my dad needs to borrow money again and he kicks my door down.”

Hux’s plan hadn’t been so thoughtless as that, he would’ve dumped the body somewhere obvious like Solo’s front lawn, or broken into his car and hid the pieces inside. They’d know full well what happened to their son of their own doing, that was the _point,_ but still, it’s not a pleasant sentiment Ben is conveying.

“Regardless, what do you think is going to happen? How do you think this is going to end?” He gestures wide, gun still in hand. “I can’t release you, I can’t have people thinking they can break my rules and not suffer the consequences. Your life may have been a little different from the testament to privilege that it seems to be, but there’s only one outcome for today I’m afraid.”

He raises the gun again in one smooth motion, pointed right between Ben’s eyes. Some of the fear is back in those wide honey-browns, but there’s something else in them too. Pleading, but not the desperate please-let-me-live kind, more an almost shy attempt at something. Like the fear of asking to sit with the cool kids in primary school and being laughed at, not the fear of a bullet to the brain. It appears this kid will not cease to surprise him.

“What if I didn’t leave? What if I… stayed?” He seems much more calm under the gaze of the gun barrel, irritatingly, and then Hux’s mind catches up with what Ben has just proposed.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m really not.” Ben bites his lip, and Hux is half-tempted to pinch himself and check if he’d fallen asleep at his desk again. “I could work for you, be part of your outfit.” He flexes his arms under the tape. “I could be your muscle.”

Hux lets out a manic bark of laughter. “Don’t flatter yourself. And I have ‘muscle’, I believe you two have already been acquainted.” The front of the kid’s shirt is soaked crimson, and there’s still a weak trickle from his nose dripping onto his lap.

Ben clenches his teeth at that, which must be painful considering one or two are missing, and almost growls in frustration. “Fine, whatever, I’ll do whatever you want, just…” He trails off into silence abruptly, his face warring between emotions before continuing, soft and defeated. His last cards on the table.

“I don’t want to be turned into some sob-story that my mom will use to get votes.” He lets that hang for a moment, seeming to gather his strength. “She’ll be sad, sure, but then she’ll tell every news station and the sympathy will come pouring in. Everyone will say ‘oh he was such a good kid’ and ‘wow Leia you’re so strong, look what you’ve been through’ and every real thing about me will be erased. A big fucking joke for dignitaries and constituents to cry into their hundred dollar scotch over.”

Hux is… stunned. He’s seen the adverts on tv, caught bits of Organa’s speeches, and he never would’ve guessed at all the pain that grinning poster child was hiding behind it. Hux can also relate. He couldn’t stand his own father using him to bolster his own bloated, pompous image, and he had fought tooth and nail to escape from under his greasy shadow and make his own name for himself the first chance he got. Killed him, too, for good measure.

“How can I trust you?” He can’t believe he’s honestly considering it, but shooting this kid is sounding less and less appealing and it’s starting to irk him now. “You don’t get far in this business trusting people, obviously, its why you’re here. And you’re just a sniveling kid who doesn’t want to die.” He looks him up and down with a raised lip, willing his senses to snap back to him so he can get this over with and get back to his breakfast. The kid’s already taken all the fun out of it by being someone Hux actually kind of _doesn’t_ want to kill, but he’s already down here and his eggs are getting cold, damn it.

“I will, though, if I go back.” Ben sounds desperate now, pleading in that odd way but no less passionately. “Either I die here or I die out there, either way there’s nothing for me but a hole in the ground with my name scratched out.” He’s looking up at him through lank sweaty hair and fire in his eyes. “Or I could stay, work for you, and show you who I can be.”

“You’re really serious.” Hux says, after a stretch of silence. “You want to work for me. Doing this,” He gestures with the gun to Ben’s… everything.

Ben smirks. “I’ve got plenty of issues I wouldn’t mind working out over some busted up faces, as I’ve said.”

Silence hangs in the air that Hux is loathe to call contemplative, considering. Begrudgingly and with a snarl he lowers the gun and clips it delicately back into its holster. It’s a Steyr, an Austrian model that actually saw battle somewhere in Italy in the 40’s. It’s the only thing he inherited from his grandfather that he saw any value in, and the only thing he hadn’t hawked straight away. It’s a pretty gun, lots of charm, and he’s rather miffed that it looks like he isn’t going to get to use it today. Maybe someone else will slip up and give him an excuse to scratch his itchy trigger finger.

“Once you do this, once you swear loyalty to me, you don’t leave until you’re carried out in a box. Do you understand?” He settles a hand at the small of his back like a threat, the leather of the holster creaking loudly, and he doesn’t miss how Ben’s eyes follow it -- how he squirms in his chair again. Hux thought it was nerves before, but- is he _actually_ getting off on this, right in front of him? While he’s just spent the last fifteen minutes waving a gun in his face? This is _definitely_ an unexpected avenue that this day has gone down. Hux takes this new bit of information and keeps it like a bullet in the chamber of his Steyr.

“You’ll be mine, you’ll belong to me.” He catches the bob of Ben’s throat as he swallows thickly. He grins fit to scare a pastor. “Can I trust you to stay mine?”

He sees Ben’s breath shudder out of him, chest heaving under dark eyes blown wide, fixed on him like a meal or a precious gift, or both. He seems to steel himself before he answers.

“How about you let me show you?” He holds Hux’s eyes in an intense gaze for a moment longer before he drops them level with Hux’s belt, red-hot and hungry. Hux startles a laugh. He takes back everything he thought about this kid being anything other than astounding. Turns out he had another card up his sleeve.

Hux strides up to him and bends until he’s inches above his face, fisting a hand in Ben’s hair to yank his head back and bare his throat. Ben is smirking, and Hux wants to tear it out with his teeth.

“You’re going to show me, are you? Show me just how badly you don’t want to die today?” He tightens his hold as Ben grins wider. Apparently they’re doing this, so Hux might as well milk it for everything the kid’s willing to give.

Without releasing Ben’s hair Hux raises a knee and plants a foot hard on the seat of the chair between his legs, just shy of stomping on the tenting of his trousers. He relishes Ben’s involuntary flinch, and in the hitch of breath as he pulls a gleaming red switchblade from a slot on his boot. He flicks it open just in front of Ben’s face, so he can feel the wind as it swings apart, and he ever so gently runs the point of it across his cheek, down his shuddering throat. Locking eyes with Ben in warning, he sinks to a crouch and deftly slices open the tape holding each of Ben’s legs to those of the chair. When Ben doesn’t kick out, doesn’t move a muscle, Hux hums in approval.

He stands and walks behind the chair, grabbing him by the shoulders and urging him to stand. The back of the chair slips between his back and his still bound wrists, and Hux makes no move to free him there. He doesn’t particularly want to catch a fist to the face, no matter how sad the kid’s story or how plush and wet his lips are shining in the low light. Once he’s standing, Hux grabs him snug by the back of his neck and marches him towards a squat but elegant chair in the corner, upholstered in black Italian leather and studded in silver rivets. Some days he wasn’t quite in the mood to get gored-up and slippery himself, and preferred to sip at a whiskey sour and watch.

He shoves Ben to his knees hard just in front of it, then steps around him and falls lightly into the seat. The basement that they’re currently defiling has no doors or windows --only the elevator-- and if he tries to run he’ll only get as far as the elevator’s only stop before running into Phasma, which they both know won’t end well for him.

He spreads his knees wide around where Ben crouches, already breathing heavy and sporting a deep flush down his neck. Hux palms himself in one long, slow motion, watching as Ben practically drools at the sight of his own cock twitching to life in his dress pants. Ben starts to lean in, and Hux quickly snatches his face in one hand, digging fingers hard into his cheeks and forcing his teeth apart from the outside.

“If you so much as _think_ of biting me, I’ll make sure it takes _days_ for you to die when I’m through with you.”

When Hux lets go Ben’s mouth is full of blood again but he pointedly doesn’t spit it out, just lets it run messily down the creases of his lips and over his chin. He grins, wide and slow and dangerous, teeth painted crimson and stinking of iron. “Promise?” His pants only get tighter.

Oh, this is going to be _fun._

Slowly, achingly slowly, he pulls down the zip of his pants, tugs his briefs down. He takes himself in hand, lazily pumping himself to hardness with his gloves still tightly in place. He’d just gotten his nails done that morning, and he wasn’t about to risk ruining them on some cock-hungry kid. He probably has a fetish for leather on top of all the violence-boner stuff, if he were to hazard a guess. Hux isn’t really one to judge, on either count.

Ben’s eyes are on his hand like it’s a pocket watch swinging heavy in front of him, hypnotizing him and putting him under a trance. It doesn’t take long to get his cock standing tall and flushed, like he said, he’s not foreign to this particularly literal kind of bloodlust. After a few more pulls he sets his hand palm-down and spread over one knee. With the other he reaches behind him, unclasps the holster.

Ben hears it, he can see the jolt that goes through him where he kneels, fully clothed yet on display even more so than Hux is hanging out of his trousers. Slowly he pulls the gun free, holds it firm, sets it down on his other knee. He leans back, languid, like a cat with feathers in its mouth.

“Begin.”

Ben, it seems, doesn’t need to be told twice, even with Hux’s gun just inches from his face. He rises on his knees and leans in, has to angle Hux into his mouth with _only_ his mouth, arms still trapped behind him. He spends some time suckling at the head, running his tongue over and over through the slit and all around in messy swipes. Hux does his best to look bored.

Ben lets out an irritated huff around Hux’s cock when he catches his expression, and suddenly bobs forward and takes him nearly all the way to the base. He feels his cock bump at the back of Ben’s throat and he’s gagging, choking around him and making Hux jump. He coughs, spit falling freely onto the cracked brick floor as he pulls away but not completely off. His eyes are watering as he tries for it a second time, Hux can see, and the sight sits vile in his stomach. The kid’s obviously never done this before, and if he _has_ and no one told him he’s possibly the worst person on earth at sucking dick, Hux has to doubt Ben’s choice in partners.

It’s almost endearing, how he chokes and sputters until tears are rolling down his cheeks but takes him all the way to his tonsils anyway. Almost. Mostly it’s just messy, and is stirring up the dusty and disused part of his brain hardwired for sympathy. The emotion fits him like a jumper he’s outgrown, which is to say, it _doesn’t._ How perfectly horrid, this boy, kicking up dirt in his neatly trimmed mental garden. But Hux doesn’t do sympathy, he doesn’t do nice. He has a reputation to uphold.

Roughly Hux surges forward and fists a hand in his hair, yanking him off his dick with an obscenely wet sound. Ben takes a breath but before he can say a word Hux forces the barrel of his Steyr into his mouth, as far as it will go. He makes a choked, surprised sound around it, that tapers off into a depraved moan.

“What’s the matter, never had a cock in that smart mouth of yours? Hmm?” Hux hisses, snarling just inches from Ben’s face. His eyes are wild, his shoulders shudder, and he chokes again on the barrel. Good. “All those big words back there, but nothing to back it up. Such a disappointment.”

Hux pulls the gun out from between his teeth and digs it under Ben’s chin, forcing his head back as far as it will stretch. Ben for his part is silent, save his loud breathing and the audible grinding of his teeth. Hux uses the gun to tilt Ben’s head slowly in the light, like a dead thing on a dissection table, scrutinizing. “All you’ve _shown me_ is that you’re all talk, and that you’re wasting my time.”

He pushes Ben’s face away with a rough shove of the barrel, and when Ben looks back up at him through his hair he looks positively murderous. _Finally._ Hux has gotten the sense that if anything drives this kid, it’s his temper. That works out just fine for Hux, who’s got quite the hair-pin trigger temper himself. Maybe if he indulges in a little bit of playing with fire, they can burn each other down.

Ben honest to god _growls,_ and stares unblinkingly at him with the fiercest eyes Hux has ever seen in a man on his knees with his gun to their head. He doesn’t look away or even blink as he leans forward again, taking Hux back between his lips slower this time, measured. Calculating. Now he’s using his noodle, Hux thinks, and nearly laughs in his face, delirious. He lowers the gun, still tight in his hand and back to its place resting on his knee.

Ben’s on a roll now, bobbing up and down slowly and smoothly, setting a rhythm and hollowing his cheeks so pretty Hux takes a mental snapshot. No sense letting a face like that go to waste. He’s starting to relax now, Ben more confident in his movements and drawing a tingling pleasure from him like a tapped tree. He sucks harder when he pulls back, lavishing him with his tongue every time he sinks back in.

He’s finally getting the hang of it and sucking him down like he’s a dying man, like his life depends on it. Hux does laugh then, because it’s _true._

He leans back and enjoys Ben’s emboldened progress, as well as the fact that Ben seems to be as angry as he is obviously aroused himself. His brow is all screwed up in a scowl even as he’s wrapped around Hux’s cock, and the bright red flush to his cheeks that runs all the way down and disappears into his shirt is most likely a combined effort of the warring emotions. But Hux can’t complain, he’s actually doing quite well now that he’s had the sense smacked into him (or, more appealingly, had the very healthy fear of Hux and his gun snapped back into focus). When Ben starts tentatively swirling his tongue at the slit on every pull, Hux rewards him with a breathy moan, and a short buck of his hips. The encouragement seems to zap into him like a drug, and Hux instantly regrets it.

Just when the kid was starting to prove himself, he had to go and slip up, forget his place. Hux almost felt sorry for him. Or he would, if the opposite weren’t so much fun.

Emblazoned and spurred on by Hux’s lapse in better judgement, Ben had shuffled a knee on either side of one of Hux’s, the one the gun rested on. It was the moan that did it, set him grinding and rutting against Hux’s shin like a desperate animal. He could abide the moaning, slurping around his cock kind of desperation, but this he simply could not.

Without a word of warning Hux raises the gun with a full extend of his arm and fires, aim somewhere at the far wall behind them and the deafening bang just a foot from Ben’s ear.

Ben jerks off of him with a cry, spit tinged rusty with blood dripping thickly from both his cock and the kid’s lips. Before he can tumble back and away Hux has his other hand tight in his hair once more, holding him in a cruel stretch. He presses the hot muzzle of the gun to the tender skin behind Ben’s ear, making him scream as it brands him.  

“ _No._ This is not for you, this is _mine._ ” He presses harder, until Ben bites out a sob. “Try it again and I won’t miss.”

He pulls the gun away after a long moment and leans back again, giving Ben a minute to sniff and pull himself together. Hux almost thinks he’s gone too far, pushed this into a less consensual place than he’s at all comfortable with, and nearly decides to shoot him just to stop this in its tracks before it can get there. But after a long moment of staring at the floor, shrouded in his hair, Ben meets his gaze. The hunger and rekindled determination in his eyes nearly bowls him over, and Hux isn’t sure where to look; at the twisted-up smirk on his face or the darkened wet spot on the front of his straining jeans.

He shifts in his seat, clenches his hand tighter around the gun, and waits. Ben scoots forward on his knees, nice and close, and gives him a long, slow blink, all too-thick eyelashes and amber light spots in his the glass of his eyes. From literally choking on Hux’s very respectable but average-sized dick to blinking bashful like a dime-show whore, this kid is just full of surprises.

Hux’s erection had flagged a bit, worrying about pushing too far (he may be a murderer but he is _not_ a monster, thank you very much) and Ben just leans in with that sweet look on his face and trails gentle kisses up the length of it, whispering it back to hardness. He nuzzles Hux’s cock just as gently with the jut of his nose, and when he leans in to suck a dark spot into the skin just above where the hair stops Hux is so whip-lashed he allows it to happen. He’s breathing heavy now, sweat tickling at his brow, and nether of them mention it.

Softly Ben takes him back into his mouth, licking up under the shaft with a wide tongue like it’s some sweet confection. It’s not an unwelcome thought and it’s definitely not an unwelcome sensation, and Hux moans again, confident Ben has learned his lesson. He has, it seems, for he doesn’t move a muscle from the waist down, his shoulders pretty and pulled back as he bobs in and out. Ben increases his rhythm, taking as much of him as he can on every pull, and Hux is panting in earnest now, moaning freely. Again it goes straight to Ben’s veins and he moves faster still, sucking hard and merciless. Hux jolts at the graze of teeth, his glove groaning around the gun, but it’s just the ghost of a touch, sending a spike of lightning straight down his cock and into his gut.

He’s close now, chest heaving and knees jerking under the electricity of Ben’s attentions, and by the sound of his warbled moans Ben is too. They’re both panting and writhing in synch, nerves on fire and full of spit and blood, and as they get closer and closer to catastrophe, Hux grins as wickedly as he can with his head feeling as light and buoyant as it is. In one smooth motion, he raises the gun and points it dead center at Ben’s forehead. Ben moans so loud Hux can feel the vibrations through his cock, and he grins wider as he pulls the hammer back with a satisfying click.

The look on Ben’s face has Hux coming down his throat, eyes blown wide and brows scrunched up in real fear while he’s still sucking like he was born to do it. Ben coughs and splutters but doesn’t pull away, bravely trying to swallow after his inaugural fellating. It’s ridiculous, completely and utterly ridiculous, and Hux snorts.

Then he pulls the trigger.

The hammer clicks forward into nothing. No bang, no fizzle in the air. Empty.

Ben Jerks back violently with a wet gasp, coughing up Hux’s mess all over his chin, running white and sticky onto his shirt. He falls backward fully this time, Hux not moving to catch him, and he tumbles back awkwardly in a heap over his still bound arms. His chest is heaving for a couple of reasons now, Hux suspects, and he watches him flounder and suck in deep breaths as he lays there, a filthy mess with his legs kicked out at odd angles to catch himself.

He drops his head to the back of the chair, to catch his breath and let all the blood rush back into his body. He only carries one bullet in the chamber when he goes down to do things like this, for safety, mostly, and it’s lodged it in the back wall somewhere. Apparently it's also good for dramatic effect when you’ve got some over-eager whelp’s mouth on your cock, he’ll have to make a note for the future. That was definitely the best first blowie he has _ever_ received, though, which he’s got to give the kid credit for. A+ for effort, the whole nine yards.

When Ben makes a strangled groaning noise he looks down at him, watches his face screw up tight like he’s concentrating really hard on something. His whole body jerks, in a heap on the floor, and then he breathlessly rolls to his side, curling his knees up with a sigh.

“Did you just come? _Seriously?_ ” Hux had never heard of creaming one’s pants after a near-death experience, and he’s been in the business of dispensing them for a _very_ long time.

Ben grunts, face pressed against the cold stone floor, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “So what if I did?”

Hux stands and laughs a high, breathy thing, clipping the gun back into the small of his back. He does himself up, still laughing, and shakes his head.

“You certainly are not as I expected, Mr Solo.” Hux smooths out his shirt and turns towards the lift doors, making quick confident strides. Ben seems to finally be back on the planet, and he jerks and sits up. His face is twisted in an angry pout that is absolutely hilarious.

“Hey! What about me? Am I in or what?”

He can’t believe he’s saying this, but, “Someone will be down to collect you shortly, and I advise you to not be on the offensive.” He reaches the wall, presses the call button.

The doors slide open, Hux steps in, and Ben sputters. “Wh- But- Can you at least untie me?”

Hux ignores him, smirks as he wriggles around on the floor. “Be sure to get lots of rest, Benjamin, and prepare yourself,” He hopes Ben can hear the danger in the drip of his words as they splash all over the bricks. “God help you if you think being mine is easy work.”

The doors slide closed, and he just catches a quiet but emphatic _yes!_ before he’s smoothly ascending, breakfast entirely forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that was a lot of words before the spicy bits, but these boys just got away from me a bit. Ain't that just the way. 
> 
> feel free to come talk to me on [tumblr](http://multi-purpose-tool-guy.tumblr.com/), I won't bite!!


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